“Oh, dear lady, I would not speak to a ghost for the world,” cried Bianca. As she said these words, they heard the casement of the little chamber below Matilda’s open. They listened attentively, and in a few minutes thought they heard a person sing, but could not distinguish the words. “This can be no evil spirit,” said the princess, in a low voice: “it is undoubtedly one of the family--open the window, and we shall know the voice.” “I dare not, indeed, madam,” said Bianca. “Thou art a very fool,” said Matilda, opening the window gently herself. The noise that the princess made was, however, heard by the person beneath, who stopped, and they concluded had heard the casement open. “Is anybody below?” said the princess: “if there is, speak.” “Yes,” said an unknown voice. “Who is it?” said Matilda. “A stranger,” replied the voice. “What stranger?” said she, “and how didst thou come here at this unusual hour, when all the gates of the castle are locked?” “I am not here willingly,” answered the voice; “but pardon me, lady, if I have disturbed your rest: I knew not that I was overheard. Sleep has forsaken me: I left a restless couch, and came to waste the irksome hours with gazing on the fair approach of morning, impatient to be dismissed from this castle.” “Thy words and accents,” said Matilda, “are of a melancholy cast: if thou art unhappy, I pity thee. If poverty afflicts thee, let me know it: I will mention thee to the princess, whose beneficent soul ever melts for the distressed; and she will relieve thee.” “I am, indeed, unhappy,” said the stranger, “and I know not what wealth is; but I do not complain of the lot which Heaven has cast for me. I am young and healthy and am not ashamed of owing my support to myself; yet think me not proud, or that I disdain your generous offers. I will remember you in my orisons, and I will pray for blessings on your gracious self and your noble mistress--if I sigh, lady, it is for others, not for myself.” “Now I have it, madam,” said Bianca, whispering the princess. “This is certainly the young peasant; and, by my conscience, he is in love:--well, this is a charming adventure! Do, madam, let us sift him. He does not know you, but takes you for one of my Lady Hippolita’s women.” “Art thou not ashamed, Bianca?” said the princess. “What right have we to pry into the secrets of this young man’s heart? He seems virtuous and frank, and tells us he is unhappy. Are those circumstances that authorize us to make a property of him? How are we entitled to his confidence?” “Lord! madam, how little you know of love!” replied Bianca: “why, lovers have no pleasure equal to talking of their mistress.” “And would you have me become a peasant’s confidant?” said the princess. “Well, then, let me talk to him,” said Bianca: “though I have the honour of being your highness’s maid of honour, I was not always so great. Besides, if love levels ranks, it raises them too: I have a respect for a young man in love.”